<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>for better or for worse by maguna_stxrk</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482108">for better or for worse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maguna_stxrk/pseuds/maguna_stxrk'>maguna_stxrk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:35:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maguna_stxrk/pseuds/maguna_stxrk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span>Sitting quietly like this, Tony can almost pretend that nothing has happened, that this is just another normal day of Steve waking up in bed next to him. Married and in love with no threat of divorce looming on the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, that is before he catches sight of Steve’s bereft ring finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders how long it has been since Steve’s ring finger is empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if he should start taking off his own, too. He wonders if Steve wants him to take it off.</span>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>538</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>for better or for worse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/iam93percentstardust/gifts">iam93percentstardust</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on Tumblr as a response to the following dialogue prompt: “Do you need more blankets?” (from <a href="https://maguna-stxrk.tumblr.com/post/625987902943412224">this list</a>)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tony wakes to the sensation of his head pounding and his ears ringing. He groans, stirring on the bed and burying his face into the nearest pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ringing persists and Tony squeezes his eyes shut, willing the noise to go away and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. That ringing is his doorbell. Someone is ringing his doorbell. </span>
</p><p><span>Tony sighs, glancing at the clock on his nightstand before groaning again when he realizes that it’s ten minutes to seven. In the </span><em><span>morning.</span></em> <span>What kind of lunatic is visiting him at this hour?</span></p><p>
  <span>He gives himself a couple more seconds to stay on the bed, cursing his own self for being awake. For a brief moment, he is tempted to just ignore whoever is standing on his porch in the hopes of making them eventually go away. </span>
</p><p><span>The doorbell rings again and he lets out another long sigh. Slowly, he sits up on the bed and immediately regrets the decision to do so as all his muscles start aching all over, the kind of all-encompassing pain he only gets throughout his body when he is really, </span><em><span>really</span></em> <span>sick. He feels like crying from the pain. </span></p><p>
  <span>The second he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked, however, he instantly freezes. His blood runs cold, adrenaline numbing his pain for the moment, his senses alert in shock.</span>
</p><p><span>Quietly, he gets to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. God, this is the </span><em><span>worst</span></em> <span>time to fight off an intruder. Not that there is ever a </span><em><span>great</span></em> <span>time to have someone illegally entering your home, but it’s early in the morning, and he’s sick, and alone, and—</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Steve?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve jumps, turning to face him with his blue eyes wide in surprise. Either Tony is sicker than he thought or Steve is really standing right there, a few steps away from the front door, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony. I’m— Sorry. I tried calling you but I think your phone is dead, and I tried ringing the doorbell but—”</span>
</p><p><span>Oh. It really </span><em><span>is</span></em> <span>Steve. With the threat of imminent danger gone, immense relief and pain ambush his senses simultaneously.</span></p><p>
  <span>“—you didn’t answer the door, so I used my key. I’m so sorry. I know it’s really early in the morning, but I was about to leave for a meeting and I tried to do a final check of the blueprint of the exhibition only to find the file corrupted. The only other copy I have of it is the hard copy I had left here, so I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s knees feel weak. He frowns as he squints, because why are there two Steves in front of him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—panicked and I drove all the way— Tony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony tries to take a step forward, but he wobbles unsteadily. The floor is moving, and the walls are spinning, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh wow look at the ceiling—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tony!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tony comes to, his ears come around before the rest of his senses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes are still shut. As he slips in and out of slumber, he manages to catch snippets of someone’s voice in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, um, I’m actually calling to let you know that I won’t be able to make it to the meeting today…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’d leave if I could, but I can’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Family emergency. We’ll just have to postpone the meeting, or I can just send scans of the blueprint via email, and have Peggy handle everything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Okay. Just give me a call and let me know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything is silent for a while. When Tony’s eyes eventually blink open, he finds himself back in his bed, his body tucked under the covers. The door of his bedroom is ajar and Tony stares at it uncomprehendingly, his brain still struggling to make sense of his current situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to answer the questions floating around in his brain, the door opens inwards and in walks Steve, a glass of water in hand. He pauses when he sees Tony staring back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” Steve smiles. He pads over and sits down on the edge of the bed, setting the glass of water down on the nightstand. He cups Tony’s elbow carefully. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony blinks. So that wasn’t a dream? Steve is really here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” Tony croaks. Steve’s face does something complicated at that before eventually settling with another smile, soft and reassuring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about that right now. How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like shit,” Tony answers honestly, sniffing and grimacing at his unpleasantly congested nose. The lopsided smile Steve gives him sends a wave of longing so strong, it feels like a kick to his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured,” Steve says, voice hushed. He opens his mouth to say something else, but his phone rings right that instant. Steve fishes the phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello? It has to be today? Okay, don’t panic. It’s going to be okay. I know, I know. I told you, I can’t. I really, really can’t.” For some reason, Steve’s gaze flits briefly to Tony at this before drifting away. “I told you, Peggy knows the blueprint inside and out. We’ll just have to leave it up to her. Tell the rest of the team I’m sorry, okay? Uh-huh. Right. If we get a second meeting, I’ll join you guys then. Okay. Mm-hm. Alright. Thanks a lot, Sam. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to get to a meeting?” Tony asks as he watches Steve slip his phone back into his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you warm enough? Do you need more blankets?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he assesses Tony’s condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m fine,” Tony says, runny nose turning his voice nasally. He sniffs a few times. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have a meeting today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of answering Tony’s question, Steve leans towards the nightstand to grab some tissues and proceeds to hold them under Tony’s nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blow.”</span>
</p><p><span>Tony leans back with a scowl, putting some distance between him and the tissues. “Steve, seriously, </span><em><span>do you have a meeting?</span></em> <span>You don’t have to—”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Blow your nose, Tony,” Steve says firmly. He stares at Tony, gaze unwavering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony sighs before doing as instructed. He blows into the tissues until his nose feels relatively clear. Something stirs in his chest at the way Steve takes all of it in stride, not showing even an inkling of disgust at Tony’s sweaty and snotty state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, he supposes that’s the kind of immunity you develop after two years of marriage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would be three in a few months, if they didn’t—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. It’s probably for the best, right?</span>
</p><p><span>It has been a month since Steve moved out and his foolish heart </span><em><span>still</span></em> <span>refuses to relinquish the sliver of hope that maybe—</span></p><p>
  <span>Tony closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fight they had had been of massive proportions, the biggest to date in their relationship, and when Steve suggested that they take a break—Tony still wonders if he was sparing Tony’s heart by avoiding the word “divorce”—Tony quietly agreed to it, no matter how much he hated the idea. Steve ended up moving back to his old apartment, an hour away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to imprison Steve in the house—in the relationship—if he didn’t want to be with Tony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Tony can only keep Steve for as long as he wishes to be kept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to the meeting, Steve.” Tony watches as Steve continues to dab at his nose with the ball of tissues, his hand careful and gentle. Even after blowing his nose, his voice still sounds nasally. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m fine, I promise. You don’t have to stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink.” Steve hands him the glass of water, staring him down until he drinks the water. He downs the water in a few gulps under Steve’s watchful gaze. After he finishes, Steve takes the glass from him and sets it back on the nightstand. He glances at the clock, all the while ignoring Tony’s disapproving stare. “Have you taken any meds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I thought I’d just sleep it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve lets out a sigh, looking disappointed but not exactly surprised. He walks out of the bedroom before returning with a simple peanut butter sandwich and some pills. He gives out strict orders for Tony to have at least a few bites of the sandwich before taking the meds and then proceeds to clean up the pile of tissues scattered all around Tony, dumping them into the trash can. After that, he disappears into the ensuite bathroom for a moment. Tony hears the sink running.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Steve emerges from the bathroom, Tony has eaten half of the sandwich and taken his meds dutifully. After confirming the evidence of Tony’s actions with his own two eyes, Steve looks satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Go back to sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony frowns. “I just woke up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a minute, Tony thinks that Steve is going to argue with him again, but he just hums and makes his way to the other side of the bed. He slips under the covers beside Tony and reaches for the TV remote.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What movie do you want to watch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve, please. You don’t have to do this. I know—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sci-fi? Or do you want something lighter? A romcom, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—you have work to do, so—”</span>
</p><p><span>“You hate being alone when you’re sick,” Steve interrupts, eyes on the TV screen. “And you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, </span><em><span>especially</span></em> <span>when you are sick. I </span><em><span>know</span></em> <span>you, Tony. I know you’d just end up skipping meals throughout the day because you don’t have an appetite.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Tony pauses. Steve is still staring at the TV, but he is no longer scrolling through the list of available movies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re… not wrong,” Tony allows, “but you really don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come earlier if I’d known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What— Of course I didn’t.” Tony shakes his head, incredulous. “After all, this doesn’t have to be your responsibility, considering we’re on a—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>—break.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The sentence is completed in his head, but Tony can’t seem to let the last word fall out of his mouth. Steve seems to hear it anyway, if the way his jaw clenches is any indication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony clears his throat and breathes through the persistent pounding in his head, inhaling through his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just go, okay? I’ll be fine, Steve, I prom—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve finally turns to face him and takes a few long seconds before meeting his eyes, blue eyes tired and resigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the one who won’t be fine, leaving you here all sick and alone.” Steve’s mouth twists into a small smile, wan and bittersweet. “I won’t be able to stop worrying. Won’t be able to work, or go about my day, or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat. Steve inhales a tremulous breath, blue eyes wavering as they hold Tony’s gaze. “Won’t be able to stop thinking about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looks down at his own lap, fingers grabbing a fistful of the comforter. Silence stretches out between them. Sitting quietly like this, Tony can almost pretend that nothing has happened, that this is just another normal day of Steve waking up in bed next to him. Married and in love with no threat of divorce looming on the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, that is before he catches sight of Steve’s bereft ring finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his heart leaps to his throat and he feels his stomach dropping like a rapidly sinking anchor. He wonders how long it has been since Steve’s ring finger is empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if he should start taking off his own, too. He wonders if Steve wants him to take it off. He feels a visceral pain in his chest just at the mere thought of the ring leaving his own finger, a sharp twinge that has nothing to do with him being sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve swallows audibly. “Just because we’re on a… break, it doesn’t mean I stop caring about you, Tony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony clenches his jaw and finds himself wondering if Steve would continue to care about him if they ended up separating for good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t ever want to find out the answer to that question. His eyes dart down to Steve’s ring finger again and he has to inhale to keep his nausea at bay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve takes a deep breath before turning to face Tony again. Although he is facing him, this time Steve’s eyes are nowhere close to meeting Tony’s, lingering somewhere in the vicinity of Tony’s chest instead. The bright blue of his eyes has become muted, something heavy and wistful diluting its luminescence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re right. You’ll be fine without me, but I won’t be. So please, let me stay.” Steve’s eyes flit down to the bed, lightning quick, and the moment they flit back up, he does meet Tony’s eyes. “For my sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony swallows, feeling like a hefty weight is sitting on his chest, suffocating him. He has to look away to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring at the TV screen, he says, “Love Actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve recognizes the acquiescence for what it is, and turns to the screen, smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love Actually it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lie quietly in bed, side by side. Despite being sick, Tony feels content in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. He ends up falling asleep somewhere during Colin Firth’s character's awkward meet-cute with a lovely Portuguese woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, he wakes up to an empty bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks quietly and tries to swallow down his disappointment. It’s a good thing, he tells himself. Steve is busy enough as it is, of course he’d leave after making sure Tony is okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he realizes when he sits up on the bed is the fact that he feels a lot better than he did in the morning. His nose is still congested and the dull throbbing in his head is still there, but at least his muscles and joints don’t ache as much anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth tastes like something has died inside of it, though, so he makes his way to the door, intending to grab himself a glass of water, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is still here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is dressed in something more comfortable now, having exchanged his long-sleeved, form-fitting shirt for one of his own sleep shirts and his jeans for a pair of sweatpants. When Steve moved out of the house, he hadn’t managed to take all of his clothes with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony would probably never admit this even on pain of death, but he is grateful for that. There have been many nights—most nights—since Steve moved out where he would sleep in one of Steve’s sweaters or shirts. They are all too big for him, but they make him feel safe and comfortable enough to fall asleep because the truth is he has been finding it near impossible to fall asleep without the warmth of Steve’s body pressed up against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is standing by the stove, his back to Tony, stirring a pot of something that is bubbling away nicely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stray piece of memory floats into Tony’s head, unbidden. It presses at the corners of his mind, demanding his attention. It is a recollection of a defining moment of their relationship, dated sometime during their first year of marriage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony had been doing something similar, trudging out of the bedroom one morning and finding Steve in the kitchen instead of at work, where he should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Tony’s perplexity, a fond smile had bloomed on Steve’s face. Tony remembers that it had been snowing outside. Bathed in the late morning sunlight and clad in a cozy-looking, broken white cable-knit sweater that complimented his blond hair beautifully, Steve’s figure had glowed golden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, eerily similar to today, there was also a pot of something steaming sitting on the stove and a delicious smell had wafted around the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Of course I’m going to stay in and take care of you. Look at you, you can barely stand up straight.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony had blinked and realized that he had been leaning on the bedroom’s door frame for support. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t you have that meeting today? With that… that British man. The gallery owner.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Rescheduled meetings are a thing, sweetheart. It’s not the end of the world,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve had said, chuckling lightly as he padded over to tuck his arms around Tony’s waist.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Besides, if Merridew does turn out to be an unreasonable man, there are plenty of other galleries in the world.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had said it so easily, so dismissively, as if it hadn’t taken years of hard work and months of careful persuasion for him to even get to the point he was at. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You, however,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve then whispered, voice low and sweet as he cradled Tony’s cheeks in his warm hands, eyes staring softly into Tony’s,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I have to take care of. After all, there’s only one Tony Stark-Rogers in the world. Well— The only Tony Stark-Rogers I care about more than anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony had made an incredulous face in response, still finding the whole situation ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had laughed at Tony’s expression and leaned in to plant a kiss on Tony’s temple, uncaring of the fact that Tony was sick and gross, carrying an abundance of infectious germs.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my beloved husband succumbed to his sickness in the dead of winter due to my callousness,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve had said as he pulled Tony close, body pressed flush against him, chin resting atop Tony’s head.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “In sickness and in health, sweetheart. In sickness and in health.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Tony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s voice calling his name promptly breaks Tony’s reverie. Tony blinks and finds Steve gazing at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you need anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few seconds, Tony finds it difficult to form an answer, part of his mind still lost in the memory of the past. Eventually, he manages. “I— Uh. Water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Steve proceeds to pull out a glass from the kitchen cabinet and pours Tony some water. He walks over, handing it to Tony. As Tony’s fingers close around the glass, Steve steps closer and presses his palm to Tony’s forehead. His lips press together in a thin line. Tony swallows audibly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few strands of Tony’s hair cling to his forehead, damp with perspiration. Using the same hand, Steve sweeps Tony’s hair back, simultaneously wiping the beads of sweat away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute. Soup’s almost ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dazed, Tony nods before heading back to the bed as instructed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shoulders the ajar door open a few moments later, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup sitting on it. Quietly, Tony watches his every move. Steve bends down to put the tray on the nightstand, slow and careful. As he does, the pendant of Steve’s necklace—one that Tony has never seen before and just realized Steve’s been wearing this entire time—slips out from beneath his shirt, dangling back and forth from the golden chain hanging from his neck. Curious, Tony leans forward slightly. He squints at the pendant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he realizes what it is, his mouth goes dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve straightens and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Now that the pendant is properly resting atop Steve’s chest, there is no mistaking what it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From a short distance away, Tony still recognizes the inscription that peeks out from the inner surface of the ring, the words written in his own blocky handwriting: </span>
  <em>
    <span>To My Beloved.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony stares at it, frozen. A million thoughts are running through his head and it feels like he can’t hold onto any of them. Try as he might, he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had taken off his wedding ring, only to wear it as a necklace. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What could this possibly mean?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“—ony. Tony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His train of thoughts broken, Tony blinks and finds Steve staring at him. One of his hands is already hovering midair, holding out a spoonful of soup. The other is situated right under the spoon in case of spillage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh—Yeah. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve continues to stare expectantly at Tony. Tony stares back at him and finds himself wishing he could read Steve’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Misunderstanding his silence for something else entirely, Steve raises the spoonful of soup slightly with an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry. I blew on it, so it’s not scalding hot, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just to further prove his point, Steve blows on the spoon again, careful and gentle before holding it up to Tony’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony opens his mouth quietly to let the spoon into his mouth and lets the warm soup soothe his taste buds and throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A companionable silence settles over them. As Steve feeds him the soup until the very last drop, Tony takes the time to process his own thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he comes to a decision, Steve is already back in the kitchen. Tony can hear him doing the dishes, the clink of glass and ceramic accompanied by the sound of running water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, he makes his way to the doorway of the bedroom. For a brief moment, he stands wordlessly, watching Steve’s back muscles work as he wipes the utensils dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Steve places the last of the utensils on the dish rack, Tony says:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s have a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve freezes. Tension turns the line of his back rigid as he grips the edge of the kitchen sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve thought about it, Steve. Let’s have a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony watches Steve’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. When Steve turns around, his expression is not at all what Tony expects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For someone who had tried so hard to convince Tony to adopt a child with him just a month ago, fighting tooth and nail and disagreeing with Tony on every point, Steve doesn’t look happy or relieved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, there is something heavy in his blue eyes, in the sharp line of his clenched jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something that looks like heartbreak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Tony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s heart sinks. He can feel his throat closing up, finding it difficult to breathe. He has done it now. He had wondered whether they could come back from this. He had wondered whether this fight would be Steve’s last straw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here it is, the answer, clear as day in front of Tony. He had tried so hard to convince himself that this was different. Steve would stay, unlike so many others that he had scared away. This time, it would be different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had believed it, too. That’s the worst part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony proves to be too difficult to love, even for Steve. Sweet and generous Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have known this would happen. He should never have let his guard down. He should have—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony.” Tony looks up at the sound of his own name to find Steve standing much closer than before. “Sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony lets out a sharp exhale, fresh tears blurring his vision as a stab of unadulterated pain shoots through him at the term of endearment. He hasn’t heard that word from Steve’s mouth in an entire month and it’s not fair, so incredibly unfair that the first time he hears it again after such a long time is when Steve is trying to break things off with him. Steve, ever kind, ever gentle, even when he’s trying to—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to have children, Tony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony blinks, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Steve stares back at him, his baby blues also brimming with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to force yourself to become a father, if you really don’t want to, and especially not for my sake. I’ve thought about it too, Tony. And—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony braces himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here it comes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I realized that, as much as I want to be a father— As much as I want to adopt a child and raise them as my own… I realized that I really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t want to do it with anyone else but you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s thoughts grind to a halt. When Steve exhales, it comes out in the form of a wet, desperate-sounding sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you so much, Tony. So much. I love you more than— Anything. More than children. More than my desire to become a father. This past month we’ve been apart— It’s been hell, for me. We don’t have to have children, Tony. So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just— Can I come back? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, sweetheart, I’m so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony pulls him into a kiss. Steve tastes of tears, his body racked by sobs, and Tony’s heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>breaks.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A turmoil of emotions wreaks havoc within Tony and his knees are weak with the sheer relief of having been granted the privilege to have Steve in his arms again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they break apart, Steve’s shoulders rise and fall repeatedly in an attempt to catch his breath. He stares at Tony with wide and searching blue eyes, wet lashes clumped together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony looks down, clears his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I’m sick, and now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be sick, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling Tony in by his shirt, Steve joins their mouths together once again, showing exactly how much he cares about that particular line of reasoning. He kisses Tony like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to steal all of Tony’s breath from his lungs and keep it for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, when they pull apart, Steve’s lips are slick and swollen, his face flushed. He is still looking at Tony like Tony is going to vanish into thin air any second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re staying. I’m staying. No one’s leaving.” Tony wipes his thumbs through the tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks. “Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Steve nods. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony leans forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. He closes his eyes, feeling the puff of Steve’s unsteady breath hit his own lips. He takes both of Steve’s hands in his, giving them a squeeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we’re having a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stills. “Tony, I told you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I told you that I’ve had some time to think about it, too.” Tony leans back to meet Steve’s eyes, hoping his own eyes would be enough to convey the truth of his sincerity. “I’ve thought about it, and… You’re right. I do want to have a kid, I’m just scared. Really scared.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony watches the bob of Steve’s throat as he swallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how my dad was with me, and I’ve told you repeatedly how scared I am that I’ll turn out just like him. Children are like sponges, you know? Blank canvases. They internalize stuff really easily and then they end up having issues. And then their issues have issues. Case in point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony gestures to himself with a bitter smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truth is, I still don’t believe I’m father material. I want a kid, but I’m still terrified of fucking things up.” He swallows, pauses to gather his thoughts. “But Steve, I’ve seen how good you are with kids, you’re such a natural. And I thought about what you said to me, that I won’t be alone in this. I’ll have you standing right beside me, every step of the way. And… I’ve also thought about how you seem to have such faith in me. Faith that I can become a good father. And I thought, that has to count for something. Your faith in me has to count for something, because… you know me better than anyone, Steve. Sometimes I even think that you know me better than I know myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony looks down at their joined hands, nodding decisively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I’ve decided.” He looks up, watches hope bloom in Steve’s azure eyes. “Let’s have a kid. Let’s build a family together, Steve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s smile, when it comes, is beautifully blinding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, as Steve lies beside him in bed, Tony finds the courage to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve?” Tony calls, voice a low whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is lying on his side, facing Tony. One of his elbows is planted on the bed, hand propping up the side of his own head as he gazes down at Tony, eyes lingering and thoughtful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His other hand reaches towards Tony’s face, brushing the back of his knuckles across Tony’s cheek before traveling further back, tucking a lock of Tony’s unruly hair behind his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Steve says. The soft glow of the nightlight sitting on the nightstand casts shadows across his face and illuminates parts of it in yellow light. It renders the lines of his face soft, the edges less sharp and defined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony swallows and averts his gaze, takes a while to let the words form properly in his mouth. Meanwhile, Steve cards his fingers through Tony’s hair in a single motion, looking at the dark strands caught between his digits like they are the most fascinating thing in the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s longer,” Steve muses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tony says, and then clears his throat when even that single syllable fails to leave his mouth properly. “It’s been a while. I need a haircut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve continues to toy with his hair, twisting strands of it around his fingers gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you hate it?” Tony asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving Tony a quick shake of the head, Steve looks down at him with a lopsided smile. “I like it. I’ve missed it. Reminds me of your hairstyle when we first met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony blinks and swallows, pretending that the innocent statement doesn’t bring about a surge of warmth in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Steve asks, when Tony’s question doesn’t seem to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony thinks of brushing it off, considers swallowing back the question sitting on the tip of his tongue for a brief moment, but eventually he says:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, uh,” Tony licks his dry, chapped lips, “why did you take off the ring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s fingers still in his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tony finds the courage to meet his husband’s eyes again, Steve is looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He pulls his hand back, away from Tony’s hair and toward the ring hanging from the chain around his own neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hums in thought, fingers fiddling with the metal band. Tony watches Steve stroke the words engraved on the inner circumference of the ring with the pad of his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pretends that Steve’s answer isn’t everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes entirely too long for Steve to present him with a reply, but when he does, it is one that is not even remotely within Tony’s realm of expectation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I took up pottery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve exhales through his nose, his lips pursed together in a manner that suggests he is holding back a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fairly recent,” Steve says, eyes still staring at him with careful amusement. “I needed something to distract myself from constantly missing you. A friend from art school happens to own a pottery studio. She offered, and... I started taking pottery classes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knot unties in Tony’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did that go?” Tony asks, voice thick with emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not very well,” Steve admits with a wry smile. “Still missed you something fierce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve holds his hand up, fingers splayed. Even under the dim lighting, Tony can still make out the faint circular mark around his ring finger, the small strip of skin a few shades paler than the rest of his hand. The sight of the empty finger still looks disturbingly wrong and Tony finds himself having to look away just to feel less unnerved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it bother you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wiggles his fingers, blue eyes staring at him, soft and curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My naked finger. Does it bother you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p><span>Tony’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. </span><em><span>Yes</span></em> <span>is the honest answer that wants to crawl out, but Tony bites down on it.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Uh, it’s— No.” Tony swallows, throat clicking and eyebrows furrowing. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, the last thing Tony wants to be is an insanely possessive spouse who obsesses about something as simple as a naked ring finger when the wedding ring itself is still hanging from a chain around his husband’s neck. Steve still carries it on his person at all times, just not on his finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gazes at him for a long moment, quiet in thoughtful consideration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, an amused smile starts to bloom on Steve’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It bothers you, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve has always been able to read Tony like an open book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Embarrassment colors Tony’s cheeks. “I don’t— It’s okay if you want—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I— I know. It’s fine, Steve. I get it. Besides, it’s too much of a hassle anyway, constantly having to take it off and put it back—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like that it bothers you. Me not wearing the ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony goes quiet at that, wide eyes blinking at Steve. His husband shrugs, smile unwavering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like it when you notice little details like that,” Steve whispers, shuffling closer. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kinda like having you obsess over me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand cups Tony’s cheek, thumb stroking the delicate skin under Tony’s eye. “I like hearing how much I mean to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony stares at him, emotions turbulent in his chest. He focuses on Steve’s eyes and the warmth of his palm against his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s smile turns fond. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll wear it on my finger again, I promise. I suck at pottery anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while, they lie motionless in the quiet, gazing at each other. Steve leans close, eyes squinting. Tony feels the light scrape of fingernail on the skin of his cheek and Steve pulls his hand away to show Tony something that is sitting on the pad of his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eyelash,” Steve announces gleefully with a child-like grin. Carefully, he transfers the eyelash onto the back of Tony’s left hand. “Make a wish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony huffs, but proceeds to close his eyes obediently. After a few moments, he lifts his left hand up to his mouth and blows the eyelash away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by Steve’s curious stare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you wish for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know the rules. If I tell you, it won’t come true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve narrows his eyes. Eventually, he relents, sighing in resignation. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lies down properly, letting his head rest on his pillow before throwing an arm around Tony, pulling him close until Tony’s head is safely tucked into the crook of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get well really, really soon, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony lets his eyelids fall shut, reciting his wish once more in the private confines of his mind, hoping that it reaches the ears of whatever deity is watching over them:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please let me keep him. Whatever happens, please let him stay by my side. ‘Til death do us part.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come find me on Tumblr <a href="https://maguna-stxrk.tumblr.com/">@maguna-stxrk</a> and let's talk all things stevetony! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>